


Gadgetzan Nights

by Bentclaw



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Background wranduin, Hearthstone inspired, M/M, Wrathion has a very bad night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28465401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bentclaw/pseuds/Bentclaw
Summary: Wrathion nurses a bad mood in Gadgetzan and has an unnerving experience.
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Gadgetzan Nights

**Author's Note:**

> After several years of hardcore writer's burnout, this is what's come out. Holiday gift fic for a buddy in the Wranduin discord I'm in. Some of my headcanons for what Wrathion may have been up to in Legion coming through here, building up to BfA, as well as tying things into the Hearthstone expac that he had a card in because I really like the Hearthstone lore.

On a weekend night in Gadgetzan, even the dingiest establishment was packed to the gills with customers. Wrathion had almost gotten into a fistfight over a single unoccupied stool midway down the bar, but fortunately his would-be opponent had been sober enough to think better of swinging at someone twice his height. Drunk goblins could be vicious, and he was trying to avoid the attention that a public altercation would bring. Rubbing his eyes, he stared down at the drink menu with a glazed expression that was only halfway fake. It had been a long time since he’d gotten any sleep, and the house specials were printed in a garish font that he could already tell would give him a headache.

The barmaid on duty was currently navigating the tables with a heavily laden serving tray held over her head with one hand, a feat of acrobatics that would qualify her for a job with the Blacktalons if he’d been recruiting. Wrathion watched her progress, mainly to avoid making eye contact with anybody else. He hadn’t touched up his disguise in a few hours, and there were at least three patrons who were Alliance races. The last thing he needed today was to be recognized by someone who might have seen him on a wanted poster lately.

A brief uproar by the entrance caught his attention. A surly-looking desert troll had said something unacceptable, or pulled a knife, or refused to pay his tab. The exact details of his transgression were unimportant, the end result was the same. A stern bouncer took his drink and upended it into a potted plant before cuffing the man’s ears and escorting him out. When Wrathion looked away from the scene, he found the goblin barmaid at his elbow, her tray now empty and tucked casually under one arm.

“Hiya cutie, long time no see!” She greeted him with an exaggerated wink. “Madam Goya get sick of you yet?”

Wrathion disguised his first genuine smile of the day as a cough. Goblins were charmingly upfront about their motives. This one was fishing for information. His disguise for the day was that of a local laborer at the museum, a convenient way to deflect any attention he might receive onto the Jade Lotus organization, which thrived on it. On any other day he might pretend to fall for her charming act and “let slip” some outlandish rumor he’d made up on the spot. Today, however, he was simply too exhausted for creativity.

“There’s no profit in making one’s workers dust the floor until their arms fall off, or so I hear,” he said, rolling his shoulder and giving what he hoped was a convincing cringe of pain. “I asked for the night off.” Careful not to expose the contents of his coin purse to prying eyes, he dug out a few gold coins and passed them to her. “Something strong, please. And a copy of the newspaper if you have one.”

“Ha! You’ll need more than one drink to get through that rag.” She pocketed his coins with a practiced flourish that told him in no uncertain terms that he would not be getting any change back. “Coming right up.”

And she was gone again, leaving him to stew in his thoughts. It was what he’d wanted, but he immediately missed the distraction. He had spent the week surrounded by the past, sheltering himself from prying eyes among the museum’s ancient relics and trying to keep his head down. It was impossible not to think about the days when he’d thrown himself into research on the originators of the artifacts, jumping from subject to subject in a kind of manic excitement stemming from incredible fear.

He’d been convinced, then, that Azeroth’s varied peoples could not survive an attack from outside forces without a significant boost to both strength and numbers. The kingdoms and armies of the era had felt lacking to him when held up against the sprawling expanse and total domination of the Mogu and the Zandalari. All that time sunk into searching for a lost treasure, a secret weapon that might turn the tide, and now it was starting to look like he’d never needed to bother in the first place. Azeroth had fought off one invasion from another world and looked to be well on the way to repelling another. The Broken Isles were bristling with defenders, and word had it that the Legion was all but shattered. Far from helping, he’d actually made things worse.

It was impossible not to imagine what might have been, had he not let the lurking dread force his hand. A world hanging onto a tentative calm, Alliance and Horde allowed time to recover after ousting a ruthless warchief. A world not torn apart by the monumental effort of cleaning up his messes. The Burning Legion would have found them eventually, he still believed that to have been inevitable, but they would have found a planet at full strength instead of two armies run ragged from the campaign on Draenor. The invasion could have been ended sooner, Azeroth sealed from harm, thousands of lives saved. Wrathion might still have his best friend.

The barmaid returned with a drink and a decidedly tattered edition of the Gadgetzan Gazette. Wrathion took it and flipped to the back. The first part of the paper was dedicated to full-color spreads featuring local businesses, legitimate or otherwise, all clamoring for attention. Real news was sparse, and usually confined to the last few pages. One day there might be a short column about the price of Leystone, with a few tantalizing phrases like “recent skirmishes” or “reclaimed territory.” Another day they might publish segments of communications from the front, intercepted by remarkably clumsy cartel spies. Anything that might impact business at the port, which was woefully inadequate for constructing a full picture of what was happening.

Once in a blue moon, there would be a picture. Exhausted soldiers trading with vendors in Dalaran, or damaged outposts in need of rebuilding. And once, on the very last page, he’d come across a treasure. A grainy photo of an address in Stormwind, the leaders of the Alliance assembled to speak words of encouragement to a new regiment of soldiers shipping out. King Anduin was front and center, extending his hand to lay a blessing on the commander of the troops. Wrathion had cut the image out of the page and stashed it away with his very few permanent possessions in his tiny room in the museum’s basement. The hope of finding another like it was one of the few reasons he bothered to check the news anymore.

It was not lost on him that the bleak existence he had managed to scrape out in this city made the sepia-toned images in the papers look bright and inviting. He downed his drink as quickly as possible and signaled for more, intending to keep going until he looked, for once, as wretched as he felt. While the world’s heroes waged war on a threat to their very existence, its failed savior would fight his own battle against a dragon’s tolerance for alcohol. It would be difficult, but he was armed with a heavy pouch of gold and prepared for a long night.

* * *

Many hours later he found himself stumbling down a darkened alleyway, out at least a couple hundred gold and reeking of alcohol. Anyone else in his position was at risk of being assaulted by roving bandits, pulled into a dark corner and robbed blind. He almost wanted someone to try. Solitude didn’t suit him, but the crowds in the bar had done nothing to ease his isolation and the drinks had numbed his ever-racing thoughts enough to let the overwhelming melancholy settle in. Sending a few lowlifes screaming out of sight might help him feel alive again, or at least distract him from his desperate longing for the past.

“Terrorizing mortals for fun,” he mumbled to himself, dragging his hand along the nearest wall. The rough surface scraped against his skin but he barely noticed. “Pathetic. What he would think of me now…”

_You really are all the same. Domination in your blood._

Wrathion kicked a pebble, and watched dispassionately as it bounced down the alleyway. He was already starting to sober up, feeling steadier on his feet, but his thoughts were murkier than ever. Maybe he’d been poisoned. That might be interesting.

_But who would bother? You’re already doomed. A failure at every turn._

His ears were ringing, pain was spreading behind his eyes, and it was far too soon to have a hangover. Stopping midway down the alley, Wrathion leaned against the wall to brace himself and squeezed his eyes shut. His gloved hands came up to cover his ears, trying in vain to muffle the ringing that came from within them. Something was wrong. He needed to gather himself, focus.

He bit down on his tongue, hard. Blood began to coat his teeth, and the shock of pain sliced through some of the fog.

It occurred to him that the thoughts pulling him down into the mire of despair were not ringing out in his own voice.

The world lurched to one side in a dizzying blur that would have sent him to the ground if he hadn’t been supporting himself on the wall. When it righted itself the lamps along the alley were glowing brightly. Had they been dark before? Wrathion strained his mind but could not recall. The normal sounds of Gadgetzan’s nightlife had returned, although he was now hyperaware of the darkness beyond the city’s borders, seeping in through the slightest gaps.

Shivering for reasons other than the cold of the desert night, he slowly started on his way again. The street lamps were a shallow comfort in what now felt like a sea filled with unseen threats. There had been something with him all night, he realized, a presence so unobtrusive that he could not say for sure when it had joined him. He couldn’t even be confident that it had fled upon discovery. What he did know was that it had not been a demon. The Burning Legion had all but withdrawn from this area of the world. Was something rising to fill the gaps they left behind?

Once again he turned his attention out to the desert surrounding the city. From the edge of town on a clear day it was possible to see across all the way to the mountains. On the other side of that range lay Uldum, a place of great power that he had always meant to visit, but had never seemed to find the time. Now the time had found him. His mind was made up, and although he was still rattled he felt more purposeful than he had in months. He could still aid Azeroth in his own way. It was not yet too late.


End file.
